


in the streets of verona

by panpanya



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpanya/pseuds/panpanya
Summary: It’s been seven years since Mila left, and she’s still right about one thing.It’s over.





	in the streets of verona

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Namida: YOI Angst Zine ^w^

It was a rainy Sunday. Even now, Sara still remembers how on that day, the cloudless sky had suddenly gone grey and hazy with dark clouds, and as she was making tea for herself and Mila, there was a downpour. Raindrops knocked on windows and its winds swayed trees; the air became cool in a moment, a perfect time for pillow forts and tea and cuddling.

Sara was dissolving sugar in the mug of tea, spinning the liquid nonchalantly with a spoon, the clinking sound filling the otherwise quiet kitchen. The scent of peppermint diffused in the air, mingling with the almost unnoticeable aroma of rain. Sara inhaled it, feeling her chest warming and her heart melting in the tranquility.

From the wide-open kitchen door, she could see Mila lying on the sofa, looking at her phone and scrolling idly under a blanket. Looking at her like that made Sara smile. Inexplicably, she felt like she just fell in love with Mila all over again.

It was just ordinary love—maybe more than that, but it was pure, youthful, like a swarm of butterflies in a rose garden; a true symbolism of passionate romance. Sara’s feelings seemed to burst in her chest, and she felt that nothing could be as perfect as these emotions. She was lost in the trance of love.

She walked over to Mila, handing her the mug. Sara took a few sips from her own mug, and put it on the table afterwards to be able to lie down with Mila. The space was cramped and, though neither voiced a complaint, it was uncomfortable; but Sara thought that it’d mean less gaps between the two of them. Sara kissed Mila on the cheek and positioned herself so that her head was under Mila’s jaw. To her content, Mila brought a hand up to slowly brush her hair with her fingers. They didn’t talk.

Sara was deep in the waters of love. It made her feel like a solo wanderer, an adventurous scavenger in awe of discovering something as beautiful as _this_. She thought about how her life with Mila meant so much, how it made her better as a person, how happy she always was with her—just ethereal thoughts that removed all heartaches.

Mila was not an angel. She wasn’t a princess or a goddess, either. She was just a woman. A person. But Sara felt so lucky to know her, to have met her. It was as if the celestial bodies aligned in favor of their love. The gods were probably their matchmakers, and Sara, upon thinking about this, sighed in relief. She snuggled against Mila’s collarbone, and stayed like that for a few minutes before Mila spoke her name sotto voce.

“Yeah?” Sara answered.

Mila didn’t say anything for a minute. Her breath, Sara heard, was steady and long. There were times, many times, indeed, where all Sara wanted was to say Mila’s name. To let it roll out of her lips easily. She simply dismissed the moment as one of those. Maybe Mila just wanted to call out to her. Her voice before sounded so intimate and honeyed. Sara smiled.

“Sara,” Mila said again. This time it was quieter, and there was a noticeable quiver in the way she spoke, which was strange and aroused Sara’s curiosity, but she simply smiled and kissed Mila on the corner of her mouth.

“What is it, Mila?”

Suddenly, Mila pushed Sara away. Both of them sat on the sofa, next to each other, and it was only then that Sara could get a good look at Mila’s face.

She looked devastated.

Her hair was disheveled from lying on the arm of the sofa for too long, but it wasn’t that that seemed off. Her eyebrows were knitted upwards, her lips pressed together, and her expression in general showed displeasure, toeing the line between sadness and anger. Sara’s hand reached out to brush her hair, but Mila caught her wrist. Sara stopped breathing all over. Something was wrong.

“Sara,” Mila said, as if saying her name twice before wasn’t enough; as if saying it again would free her from whatever situation they were stuck in. “I—“

“What’s wrong?” Sara’s wrist was still held by Mila. Mila, realizing this, slowly let go.

“I—“ Mila was in the verge of crying, but she looked at Sara right in the eyes and said, strong, but a little raspy, “we can’t be together anymore, Sara.”

“What?”

“I said it. We can’t be together anymore,” Mila stated. “No matter how hard I try, love has long left my heart and now I’m torn. I have—“

Sara didn’t say anything.

“I have forgotten how to love,” Mila continued.

“Why?” the question floated in the air for a few seconds. Sara looked down. Where was this coming from? She had been so happy that evening. Everything was so perfect, and Mila was so beautiful, and she was so content. Her heart had been fluttery and soaked in some kind of love potion. Sara fell in love, but Mila out of it.

“I don’t know,” Mila replied, helplessness obviously tinting her raspy voice. “I really don’t know. It’s like, I think the tang of love has been way too sweet for me, and it’s making me feel sick.”

Sara didn’t know how to answer. Her throat was clenched tightly. She couldn’t even swallow. Nothing felt real. Nothing was real. Sara glanced up; Mila’s expression was enigmatic, blank, but Sara could tell in a heartbeat that Mila, too, was having a hard time.

“Why?” Sara repeated the same question. She had a lot to ask, but the answer to this particular question was what she wanted to know the most.

“I don’t know!” Sara flinched when Mila’s previous gentleness was replaced by frustration. “It’s not your fault. I just happen to have severed the red string. We can’t walk on the same path anymore. It’s over, Sara, I’m sorry.”

“You’re so cruel, Mila,” Sara felt that her eyes could no longer bear the sting of unshed tears anymore. “You know that I love you. I know that you love me too. So, why? Kisses after kisses, hugs after hugs, ‘I love you’s after ‘I love you’s, and this is how we end?”

Seeing Sara cry, Mila cried too. Tears overflowed from her pretty blue eyes down to her pale cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said, albeit each word was restricted by the suffocating need to cry. “I know that you love me. That’s exactly why I can’t say all of these things without being in so much pain. But—“

“But?”

“I no longer love you.”

Mila’s words hurt. Hearing the woman Sara loved the most saying this was even worse than the worst that could happen. Sara had thought about so much: how she would grow old with Mila, achieve things with her, be happy with her—but, just with those five words, everything crumbled into debris.

It was a kind of pain that she couldn’t bear, an endless torment so excruciating that Sara hoped for nothing but for everything to simply drop dead at that moment.

“Okay,” Sara admitted defeat. “It’s not like I can do anything to change that.”

“I’m sorry.”

She punctuated her apology with a kiss on Sara’s lips.

For the first time in her life, Sara didn’t kiss back.

_“How much do you love me?” Mila asked._

_“This much,” Sara raised her hands, then stretched them to her sides. Mila chuckled. “How about you? How big is your love for me?”_

_“This big,” Mila put her palm on Sara’s chest, right on the skin where her heart beat underneath. Sara tilted her head, confused. “As big as your heart.”_

_“Mila, the human heart is only the size of a fist. That’s not very big.”_

_“That’s right, sweetie, but your heart, as in, your metaphorical heart!”_

_“You mean the heart that stores all my love for you?”_

_“Yep.”_

_“Oh, it’s indeed big.”_

_Mila leaped from where she was sitting and wrapped her arms around Sara. They both laughed._

Sara is sitting on a bench in front of a bakery in the city of Verona. The autumnal winds blow lightly, caressing her cheeks and hair. Somehow, suddenly, Sara remembers that small moment. It was also a breezy autumn day. Thinking about how lovely it was makes her smile, but that beam vanishes as soon as she realizes that it can’t be repeated no matter what.

It’s been seven years ever since Mila left. Seven years without Mila’s smile, without her touch, without the gleam in her eyes, without her. Seven years alone. Sara continued her figure skating career, and eventually retired, unable to be on the same rink as Mila. Now she spends her days writing endless poems for her long lost love. It’s a great job, but terribly lonely.

Sighing, Sara looks up. Passersby give her no mind. They all walk quickly, and none of them are familiar to Sara, until her eyes catch a shadow, a blurry image of somebody.

_Mila._

She stands up out of reflex. The lady is walking in the opposite direction. Sara knows, even from the glimpse of that fiery hair, that it must be Mila. The crowd hinders Sara from seeing her face, but she knows. She chases after her, walking through the sea of people, bumping shoulders with strangers, and finally, she gets a good look at Mila’s back.

Sara wants to drop to her knees right now. Seven years without this sight. She stops in her tracks, her mouth itching to scream out Mila’s name. She ends up whispering it. An inaudible whisper, unheard by anyone at all, let alone Mila.

Mila is with someone else. The woman whose hand she’s holding is tall, beautiful and when she looks to the side, Sara can see her smile at Mila. Mila looks at her, too, and returns the smile. Seven years without this sight.

The couple stops when Mila says something. They laugh loudly, and Mila’s lover leans down to kiss her cheek. They continue walking, her lover’s arm around her shoulder, and Mila’s around her waist.

When Mila looks back for a split second, Sara thinks they must have locked eyes. But even if they do, Mila’s expression doesn’t change. Sara bites her lip. Once. Twice. Before the nostalgic waves are too strong for her to handle and tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

It’s been seven years since Mila left, and she’s still right about one thing.

It’s over.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi to me on twitter: [icryoverships](https://twitter.com/Icryoverships)


End file.
